Bound to Vast Expectations Ex Parte
by Michiru Kashyuuno
Summary: The greatest expectations are granted upon Spike as a child. But can Spike Spiegel choose between his past, the future expected, and the present in a game of love?
1. Enchanted

**Author's Disclaimer**: I do not own the characters of the story. They belong to the creator of Cowboy Bebop. By no means am I the creator nor had I even fathomed them until I saw the series. This is an AU fic. The characters may seem a bit out of character, but that's why I picked them. This is my first Cowboy Bebop fic, so please be kind. ^.^

  


Title: Bound to Vast Expectations – Ex Parte

Genre: Romance/Drama/Alternate Universe

Rating: PG-13

Content: Suggestive Dialogue, Coarse Language

Teaser: The greatest expectations are granted upon you as a child. Can Spike Spiegel choose between his past, the future expected, and the present in a game of love? 

  


  


**1: Enchanted**

  


_"What lies behind us _

_and what lies before us _

_are tiny matters compared _

_to what lies within us."_

  


_- Ralph Waldo Emerson_

  


There are some things men just should not deal with in life like associating with the wrong kind of women. I, myself, have disobeyed the previous. I fell in love with a woman of considerable wealth, guile, unadmonished beauty, prowess – she was the desired fruit of the Gods to me. Now, any logical man would have said "Don't get involved. She'll only make your life complicated". But I chose to believe otherwise. I'll tell you how I saw it through my eyes. This is my story.

It started long ago, when I was six. I was poor yet resourceful, and I had the knack for literature. I was taught how to read and write at a young age by my father, Joel, a wise man all in his own era. I became obsessed with intellectuals and their mannerisms, especially my father. He spoke as if he was better than everyone around him – disregarding the lack of job he didn't acquire. He was a person of manual labor, tending to gardens and trimming shrubbery. We lived in a house, not quite as well-kept as other houses near us, but it was shelter and had air conditioning. What more could you need? We lived in the outer parts, nowhere near the city, so it consisted of fishermen, people who kept to themselves, or rich people who were lucky enough to have private estates. Of the people my father associated with, it was the more affluent of the population that hired him. One client, in particular, captured my father's eye for business. It was an estate near the ocean with an abundance of foliage: Il Paradiso Esotico.

It was the envy of all in the area – and probably the county! The name was given in the words above the owner's large, rusty gates. It meant "Exotic Paradise.", inspired by a famous book the owner's father was obsessed with. The property truly was for a man like my father. We had come there when he heard the owner, Miss Maria Murdock, was looking for a gardener. She wanted to spruce the place up since she had company at her estate. So my father took me over in his truck, and we headed out. Once at the gates, my father got out of his truck to investigate the property. 

"It looks like a lot of work, Spike." he muttered to me.

I hopped out of the truck and ran towards the gates. I immediately clutched the rusty bars of the gate and pressed my face against it, letting the rough, old paint brush against my cheeks. I wanted a better look at the jungle confined within the fence. I saw the cleared road that led to the estate from that very gate I stood at. It was something I had never really seen in my life, with the exception of television. I had to get a better look and explore. I was always the curious, hands-on kind of person.

"Let's go, son. We got quite a ways before we get to the mansion." he said while he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his hand.

The heat was sweltering that day. It was summer, and the sweat dripped off of us. I remember the short ride to the mansion. The sunlight flickered on my face as we passed under the trees. The wind brushed back my hair, wiping the thick mass of emerald green hair about. I can remember that day so vividly. I remember the gravel and rocks crackle underneath the tires as we pulled into the driveway in front of the huge mansion's entrance. We both stepped out of the truck, swinging the doors behind us, and inspecting in awe. 

"I have to go look for Miss Murdock. You stay around here, ya hear?" he said as he wiped the sweat off his brow. 

He disappeared into the open foyer, and my eyes wandered. My feet followed faithfully as my curiosity bloomed. I disappeared into the foliage, whipping at the palms that were in my way at first. As I continued on, my violent arms reduced themselves to merely brushing the branches aside. I began to tread softly instead of stomping loudly. It was all a reduce in spontaneity for me and descent into the polite observer. I saw the exotic flowers – red, blue, yellow – and I became aware of the birds, flapping wildly about as I spotted them. Their wings became fans of brilliant colors against the green of the trees. It was truly new to my eyes since I rarely spent time away from the house near the ocean. This was my adventure. Little did I know, my adventure would not end with this visit to the property. It would all start with the most beautiful creature, and end with my own greatest tragedy.

After the exploration, I found many things. Old patio furniture were all rusted away from years of rain and neglect. Once a beautiful gazebo, constructed of stone, had weeds growing in the cracks of the worn base. Of course, I had to check out the inside and get away from the sun, so I dove for cover within the shade. It was surprisingly cool and welcoming as I stepped inside. It was very much the opposite of what I'd feel around Miss Murdock's estate later on. 

I sat on the steps, waiting for the voice of my father to beckon me back to civilization, but instead I heard the crunching of leaves. I heard someone move among the trees and bushes. I felt that person's eyes observing me so intensely, so focused. Fear arose in me as all children should feel at that age when a stranger was around. I whipped my head around, searching, praying it wasn't a criminal coming for my life on the spur of the moment murder. Instead, I found blue eyes staring straight into my own. The light illuminated the little girl's petite figure. The sun bounced off her long golden hair that pooled at her shoulders to rest upon her green sun dress. Her face was so solemn and scrutinizing. Her lips just as thin as she walked around me, keeping her distance.

And like that, she disappeared into the jungle, taking apart of me with her.

"Spike!" 

It was my father. I ran away from the gazebo, away from the beautiful little girl, away from the exotic paradise this estate advertised itself to be. I was scared out of my mind by our brief encounter, yet entranced by her every movement as little there seemed to be. It haunted my dreams, and that night I found myself begging for one more time with the little girl though we didn't speak at all. 

"Spike, let's get out of here!" 

My father sounded happy. Something good must have come out of his visit. I jumped onto the back of the truck and stuck my head through the window in the back of the truck cabin. My father slapped the steering wheel with the heel of his palm and waved an envelope in front of my face.

"Did you get the job?" I asked.

"Nope, son. She just gave me five hundred woolongs-called it 'gas money!'" he exclaimed, "Let's go and get us some supper."

The trip home was full of merriment as my father kept randomly yelling out the window and whistling a tune. When we got home, my dad's sister was waiting for us with both hands on her hips.

"Annie! My sweet Anastasia! We got us some money today!" he yelled as he bounded up the stairs.

I was not far behind when I caught sight of her. She was a rather big woman wearing a short-sleeved, red polka-dotted, white dress with a red apron over. She crossed her arms as my father took his seat at the dinner table.

"Joel Spiegel! You don't just come into this house late at night and expect supper!" she scolded and grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, "And you, little runt, why didn't you finish the chores I left you this morning?"

"I woke up late and went with dad."

"Listen, you two. My little store cannot provide us the rent and food for us. I-."

"Annie!" my father and I yelled in unison.

She fumed at our abrupt exclamation and dropped me to the ground.

"What is wrong with you two?" she asked crossly.

"Annie, didn't you hear me? I got money today."

Her demeanor dissolved, and a smile grew on her face.

"Well, why didn't you say anything?!"

"Annie!" he said in incredulity.

"Joel..." she mimicked.

"Annie, we'll eat out today." 

"No, we order in because I am not walking anywhere after work." she informed him with finality in her voice and made herself a perch in one of the chairs at the table.

My father grabbed the cordless phone near him and pressed the power button.

"So we will..."

Later that night, I was reading a book when my father came wandering by.

"Are you reading the book I told you to read?" he asked, leaning against my door frame with his arms crossed.

"Of course. Why this though? It seems that everything is divided by social class. It kind of irritates me." I replied.

"Isn't that the way life always goes..." he muttered with distaste.

"So what's with this book?" I asked.

"It was one of the books I read in school. It truly enlightened me on what I couldn't see. I was infatuated with this girl-beautiful and rich, of course. But like that book, I discovered that love couldn't conquer social classes. Rich never mingled with commoners. It was never meant to be. Promotions never came to outsiders in work. It's the case in everything. I just wanted reality not to hit you quite as hard as I growing up."

My father was used to sharing his thoughts with me about his life and my own. There were so many things he wanted me to learn, that he wanted to teach with his own experiences, but I was stubborn. He knew that, as did I. We were the same two men living in different generations, bound to make the same mistakes, or at least similar ones. 

"If you liked this girl, how'd you end up with mom?" I asked.

He paused, looking thoughtful for one moment as he delved into his memories to see my mom's face. That kind of breath of fresh air my mom always considered herself in a land of bad breath, he'd joke.

"She was different. And I was attracted to her in a different way than the other girl. She was imperfect." he sighed and ran his hands through his hair, "And I was equally imperfect."

"She died after I was born."

"I know."

"Was it your fault?"

"No. She just woke up from the dream." 

That was the most we lingered on the topic of mom. My dad always referred to life as if it were all a dream. I never quite understood that. But things seemed to be as random as dreams. It was the next day that our household got a strange phone call early in the morning.

"She wants Spike!" Annie exclaimed as she brought me to her, holding my lean form to her own.

"Why?" my father asked as he took a sip of his coffee, placing the paper down for a second.

"Apparently, Miss Murdock wants company with her and her guest. Yesterday, I believe she found a guest in Spike here! And she wants to pay for his time."

My father cocked an eyebrow at me, and I shrugged.

"I honestly don't know how we get so lucky." Annie murmured.

And life took me back to Paradiso Esotico once again, except this time, the girl was there at the entrance of the mansion waiting for me. Annie dropped me off at the gate on her way to work, and I ventured down the road. At the entrance I saw her, just as beautiful as the day before. She snorted at my presence and pivoted on her heel.

"Follow me." I heard her voice command.

I followed faithfully, watching her blonde tresses swing with each proud stride. I was mesmerized and let her lead me wherever she wished. She stopped after a maze of open spaces, hallways, and stairs. She pushed open a big, oak door leading to yet another grand room.

"Go in." she ordered.

I obeyed yet again, and saw a small bird in a big cage. I examined it in its huge confinement, but through the thin bars, I caught sight of another prisoner. A prisoner of her own broken heart. She was a thin woman, deathly pale, and made up with many cosmetics caked on her aging skin. Her hair was dyed a dark yet obscene vermillion, and her lips were a bright rouge color. Her eye lashes had clumps of mascara, especially at the sides of her eyes, and the blues of her eye shadow were flashy, powdered onto her eye lids and underneath her penciled-in eye brows. Her clothing was odd for the times. She wore an old, plain, black cocktail dress with beach sandals. She smiled at me with her off-white colored teeth and grabbed for my wrist immediately. 

"Boy," she said sweetly in an almost spiteful tone, "Do you feel this?"

She placed my hand on her heart, and I felt the rhythmical beating-probably the only thing that dubbed her as alive or even human. She looked at me in a nostalgic manner.

"Do you feel it?" she breathed acutely.

I nodded in response, and her look turned spiteful as she threw her hand away from me.

"It's broken." she said bitterly and walked to the other side of the room.

She fell onto a cushioned chair and grabbed for the cigarette on the table beside her.

"You smoke, boy?" she asked as she lit the stick in her mouth.

"No, ma'am." I replied.

"Pity." she said as she exhaled her smoke after her first inhale, "You got a name as well?" 

"Spike Spiegel." I piped up.

"Well?"

She looked at me expectantly and waved at me. I looked at her in confusion.

"Well, do something, Spike!" she exclaimed angrily, "Dance, dance! You're supposed to be entertaining me! Dance for me!"

I shook my head in disbelief but tried not to offend her.

"What's wrong?" she deadpanned.

I froze and began to stutter.

"I-I-I don't dance, ma'am."

She blew smoke into the air with a snort.

"Then how are you ever going to entertain me?" she asked as she threw her hands up in the air in disbelief.

The bird chirped loudly cutting through the uneasy silence between Miss Murdock and I. She continued to smoke, seemingly disregarding me, until she caught something. The blonde girl was at the bird cage, her fingertips brushing against every thin bar while she walked around. Her eyes never left me as she watched from behind the cage. I met her eyes, swallowing the lump in my throat. Miss Murdock's eyes lit up, and a smug smile replaced her displeasured expression. 

The girl came towards us, never leaving her gaze. She reached me and shifted her gaze to Miss Murdock. I turned to meet the old woman's eyes. She took a satisfied drag of her cigarette.

"Julia, my darling niece, have you met Spike?" she asked with nod in my direction.

"I thought he was the hired help." she responded.

I looked into her blue eyes. I was mesmerized, and like a mouse lured into the snake's mouth, I fell into Miss Murdock's trap. Julia was the bait, and I was the prey.

"Come now, Julia! Don't you know? I asked him to come for you. He's your new playmate." Miss Murdock said in that fake enthusiastic tone.

She looked at me with acknowledgment, but snubbed us both turning her back to the both of us. She sauntered off, knowing I was watching her with a taken interest. It was then that Miss Murdock slinked over to my side, placing her bony hands upon my shoulders. Her lips brushed against my ear as she spoke and the smell of nicotine coming from her breath consumed me in that single moment. Her words would always be remembered, my naivety, my entranced childhood spent in vain with the brief conversation.

"What do you think of Julia?"

"I think she's snotty."

"Anything else?"

"I think she hates me."

"Anything _else_?"

"She's beautiful."

I felt her smile broaden, and she whispered ever so softly, "You can come back, Spike. Do you want to come back?"

I was a young boy with an infatuation with an angel, or rather this spiteful creature in a guise of pure beauty. I was too blind, too deaf to hear my mind's warnings. The pounding heart in my chest, the churning of my stomach, the murmur of expectation from Miss Murdock, and the sound of the little bird crowing as if I were Peter*, awaiting the inevitability of my own downfall by my own decision. And like a damned fool, a madly infatuated youth without the ability of common sense, I whispered back, "Yes".

  


:::::::::::::::::::::::::::

  


So it happened as such. I came almost every other day to spend time with Julia. We danced (only because Miss Murdock made us), talked about our different worlds (or rather her derogatory comparison to both our life styles), her aunt, our parents, and her interest to get away from Paradiso Esotico. We shared a common bond of a lost parent, or in her case parents. Her parents died in a plane crash on the way to a vacation, my mother was killed by my birth. But in that, we found an awkward comfort in each other's presence. Of course, maybe it was Miss Murdock's insistence of my visits and Julia having to spend time with me or just sheer will that we conversed like friends. We grew older, I got taller, leaner, and more sarcastic given the path I dealt myself and the life my family led. Annie kept her store going, my father found other jobs, and I was paid to hang out with a beautiful girl. Life was somewhat unfair in some aspects.

Julia became more fair with age. She became more filling in her figure, and with every passing year, a seductress. I heard her aunt proudly boast of her many conquests-always coming out victorious. Julia would incline her head to me as I'd look to her. She'd flip her long, wavy, golden hair over her shoulder and smile with her ruby lips all swollen probably from shared embraces with a guy at school. 

"Jealous, Spike?" she'd ask, and I'd simply nod.

I'd give her a smug smile with a sarcastic tone as I shoved my hands into my pockets, "Yeah, Julia. Damn jealous."

She'd laugh, dark and rich, then walk away to her room. That was the way of things. We'd study together up in her room. She was dressed in her school uniform, while I, a public school attendant, would just be in jeans and a baggy shirt with sneakers. She'd twirl her hair around her finger, occasionally bite her pencil when she found a problem difficult, but continue on. She'd rather bite her tongue than ask for a poor boy for help with anything. And in these moments together, she would either flirt or boast of her male company. 

"Spike, are you struggling?" she asked with a sigh.

I looked up from my work to see her looking at me in pity. I smiled sheepishly and scratched my head.

"Yeah, math isn't exactly my best subject." I muttered as I looked at my eraser almost as short as the metal holder around it.

"What _is_ a good subject for you?" she said with a giggle. 

"Julia..." I growled irritably, and she cleared her throat.

"Would you like some help, Mr. Spiegel?" she said, saying my name in an almost rich tone of voice.

She pulled her seat close to mine and examined the problem with a knowing glance in my direction. I smelled the scent of her hair in the close contact. It was roses, the beautiful flower known widely for its exotic look, but its thorns if touched. She had begun to speak, but I wasn't listening. I watched her lips move, and her tongue would occasionally peek out to moisten her dry lips.

"Spike, you're not listening to me." she said with a smile and leaned her head against her hand.

"I was." I countered.

"Then what did I say?"

I was at a loss for an answer, so I winged it.

"You were talking about how the two equations are parallels of each other and that when they are, they can be made to find the answer of another question." I babbled.

She raised an eyebrow and licked her finger, flipping the page.

"Well, you are a good bull shitter, aren't you? Either that, or you were actually listening." she said nonchalantly and flipped her hair over her shoulder.

I sighed in relief, but my heart was beating rapidly again. I noticed her hand was close to mine, brushing from time to time subconsciously. I found myself intrigued with her slender fingers and realized that they had slipped from the table into the darkness below. I gulped as I felt something edge up my thigh, and I yelped as she caught me by surprise.

"Listen to me, Spike!" she yelled indignantly, tugging on the waist band of my jeans, "This is not a time to daydream!"

The heel of her palm brushed against me as she tugged to pull me out of whatever dream I was supposedly having at that moment. 

"Why are you tugging on my pants?" I asked nervously.

"Because I find that men think with what's in there, so if I shake that, it's like shaking a woman's head, don't you think?" she drawled and recoiled from her grasp.

She stood up and slammed the book to a close.

"We're done for the day. Go home." she said coldly and fluffed out her hair.

My encounters with Julia were of pure heat and tension, always the same, never different. The beginning of my self-exile from Paradiso Esotico didn't come until one day that I came over. We danced as the crazy old bat of a woman watched us. She'd dance by herself, glorified by the bravery of doing so, or maybe just thought of as highly insane. 

"Ball-change!" she'd randomly exclaim, and we'd do just as she said.

Julia's hips would swing to the salsa, her feet just as capable as her aunt's. A trait probably from that side of the family. Her eyes would remain on mine, and the minute I'd falter to look at my feet, Julia would call to my attention of my mistake.

"Look at me!" she commanded, and I did just that.

At the end of the dance, I twirled her about three times until her aunt applauded our dance.

"Wonderful! Wonderful! Magnifique!" she shouted.

Julia released my hand and began to walk from the ballroom.

"Why, my darling niece, where do you think you're going? We still have the waltz." Miss Murdock said with a wave of her hands in the air.

She turned, letting her hair sway to the side.

"I'm going to a party tonight. You know about that."

"I did not! Who is your escort?"

"Oh, Aunt Maria, please! I'm going to see Lynn."

"Lynn! Well, his father is a drunkard! How can you keep such company!" 

I didn't know much about their affluent world, but I knew the names. Lynn was the heir of a corporation his father was bound to give up later on.

"By God! Lynn doesn't drink, and his father has sobered up."

"I repeat, my pet, who is your escort?"

"This is ridicules! I'm going to the party _alone_!"

"Spike will go with you to this little soiree of yours."

"Spike?! You can't be serious?"

Miss Murdock glanced over at me and took a cigarette from behind her ear. She sauntered over to a table where there was a lighter and lit her stick, letting the tobacco blaze within it.

"Surely, he is a respectable escort, don't you agree, Julia?" she said with an exhale.

Julia looked at her aunt in disbelief, but began to smile after a second gaze at her. She looked over at me with a grin.

"Okay. But don't be late. Be at Lynn's mansion in formal attire. The party starts at ten." she curtly stated and walked away.

I had rushed home after my visit and turned to my father for aid. He gathered a nice suit for me, and I rushed in his broken down truck to the mansion. I came to a halt at the gate where a security guard interrogated me.

"What's your name again?" the security guard asked.

"Spike Speigel." I replied.

"You're not on here, son. Why don't you just turn back?"

"You don't understand! I'm with Julia."

"I didn't see anyone named Julia that said she had a date nor was she with a date."

"I know because I'm here right now."

"Are you getting smart with me, son?"

"Let's get out of here." a voice cut in. 

I turned to the other side of the truck to see Julia climbing in. She smoothed out her short black cocktail dress and placed her small purse in her lap before looking to me.

"Well? What are you waiting for?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am." I said curtly and pulled out of the mansion entrance. 

We drove in silence but ended up at my house. My father was out helping Annie with inventory at her store, so that left Julia and I alone. She had asked to come to my home for once, and she did not degrade it. She wandered into the house, inspecting everything around her.

"Quaint." she commented lightly.

I only nodded, following her with my hands in my pockets. I threw my jacket off to the side before we entered my room. She stopped at the doorway, and looked at me tentively with a teasing smile.

"May I enter?" she asked.

"Of course." 

I followed her in and as I made my way towards my bed, she stopped at my desk. I sat down on the bed, observing her movements. She read the papers on my desk, brushing over the words with her fingers.

"You didn't tell me you write?"

"You never asked."

"Well, it looks like you have a thing for beautiful blondes." she joked.

"It's a story about a man like my father who fell for the unnattainable."

"Oh. And this woman is his object of affection?"

"Yes."

She turned to me and walked over. Her movements halted when she came before me. 

"Do you think I'm unnattainable, Spike?" she whispered.

"You never really act interested in anything."

"I'm interested in you." she said softly.

I gulped and tried to calm my nerves. 

"You don't act like it."

"And if my aunt knew, do you think she'd allow me to see you?"

She brushed her knee against the inside of my thigh, and I looked up to meet her eyes. She had her mouth partially open as I brushed my hand against her knee, tracing up the inside of her leg.

"Why tonight?" I asked as I gripped her hips under her dress.

"Why any other time?" 

She lowered herself down onto one of my legs and pushed me down onto the mattress. She brushed her lips against mine and then consummed them with little nips. My hands wandered behind her, and she moaned into my mouth as we came dangerously close to meeting with one of my biggest fantasies. She tugged at my tie, pulling me closer to her body. She writhed against me, letting her hands drift down to my stomach. And as her hands reached my belt, she pushed off me, releasing my lips.

She stood up and pivoted on her heel, walking away from me. She fluffed her hair out and straightened out her dress as she reached my house door. I ran after her, chasing her, just trying to stop her from ending that special night.

"Where are you going?"

"I have to go. I have to wake up early tomorrow."

And she went out the door. I didn't see her and decided to go to the estate the next day to talk to her. Instead, I found Miss Murdock, acting more weird than usual. She stood out near the patio by the ocean wearing another cocktail dress, long and flowing, left to blow in the sea breeze.

"Where's Julia?" I asked.

She looked at me with a far off look in her eyes. Her frail hands grabbed mine, and she exhaled the smoke from her cigarette.

"Come with me out there." she said.

We ventured out onto the bare patio, and she stopped before the edge.

"Miss Murdock, where's Julia?" I reiterated.

"I never come out here-ever. And you know why..." she looked off into the horizon and took a drag of her cigarette, "He looked like you. His name was Andy von de Oniyate-my fiancee. I thought he would never hurt me. I saved myself for him, but he took advantage of me-left me at the alter! What kind of cruel creatures do that? Men do. And that's why men must pay. My Julia she'll do just that. She takes men and breaks them."

I stared at her in horror. How had I gotten myself involved in the trail of broken hearts behind Julia?

"You weren't much of a challenge. You were captivated by her from the start. She has become an adequate woman." 

She blew smoke into the air, letting the smoke linger around me.

"Where's Julia?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Why, Spike, didn't you know? Julia went to New York to go to college. I thought you knew..." 

I backed away from her, releasing myself from her grasp.

"See you tomorrow." she said softly.

I ran. I ran away from Paradiso Esotico and became a man. I didn't disillusion myself with silly ideals. I worked at Annie's store and after college, I went to the city to make it. I wanted to get away from my poor life, but ended up in a world of more complexity and heartache.

  


  


  


Author's Note: If you can't tell, this story was based loosely off of the movie, "Great Expectations". It was based _loosely_ because there's a different storyline then the movie. I think the only thing this has in common with the movie is how these two met and how their relationship is affected my Mrs. Murdock. I think that's all, but I have a bunch of stuff going on for it. Well, I hope you liked the first chapter. It was hard to write in a man's POV and to write such a heated scene *fans herself*. I had to get into a masculine train of thought. LOL! I always wanted to write a Cowboy Bebop story. So let's see how this goes. This story is torn between Julia/Spike and Faye/Spike. It's kind of a love triangle between his past and his present.

  


References:

  


* Peter – In the bible, Peter was an apostle who Jesus predicted would deny he knew him by the end of three crows from the rooster.

  


  


  


  



	2. Periodic

**2: Periodic**

"And you feel restrained because of your father's ideals for you to be a recluse?" 

"I don't know."

"Well, in my opinion, I believe this could be a big part of your social problems. Because your father wished to keep you away from the pain of the world, you-being a rebellious child-decided to live your life in the opposite style. But your father still lives within you thus your unconscious fear of parties. And in addition, your experience with parties haven't been as successful, am I right?"

"Well, yes."

"It says on my note pad that you were raped."

"Yes."

"So, with all the efforts your father gave into keeping you from harm by keeping you in the house, you feel like he was right because of the incident. Am I right?"

Jet Black is a friend of mine. He's a psychiatrist with a lot of heart though he tries to act tough. Jet used to be a cop for about five years, trying to please his father, who before him was a cop like he. It was the family line's profession. But, in the long run, all the action just didn't fulfill Jet as much as getting into people's heads. That was his true calling. He listened enough for it.

Jet was a man who looked the part of a mechanic-at least outside of work. He was big, muscular, and carried a scar down over his right eye. It was from his last mission as a police officer. A gangster cut him deep. His eyebrow doesn't grow on the scar. It's kind of freaky, but that's Jet. His hair is almost gone, only growing on his face and the sides of his head. But, without a dye job, all his hair-even a beard connecting to the hair on the sides of his head-is still a dark, thick blend of ebony. 

He looked down at his watch and stood up from his chair, alarming his client as she sat up in the couch.

"Look's like we're all done for the day." he said with a smile.

"Thank you, Dr. Black. It's been a wonderful break-through session." she said happily and exited the room.

I awaited patiently until the patient had made her way into the elevator to make my loud entrance. I was older, working as a struggling writer. It wasn't as awarding as Jet's line of work, but it was still work. I had come into the world of shirts and ties as my father used to say. I worked for a newspaper column, giving the occasional story when they required. I had just come from work when I arrived. Sporting a crisp collared white shirt and a red tie loosely hanging off my neck, I waltzed in with a lit cigarette in my mouth. My hands were in my pockets of my navy blue dress pants my job told me to wear. It cost me a lot to buy decent clothes for this job, and at the end of the day, all I did anyway was undo the top button and roll up my sleeves. I hated looking so proper. It almost reminded me of the rich kids going to private school when I was growing up.

"I'm ready for my appointment with the shrink!" I announced loudly as I walked into the room.

"Spike Spiegel!" Jet turned to me with a smile and took my hand with a hearty shake, "How's it going, man?"

Jet and I met long ago, on opposite sides of the story in good verses evil. He being the cop was obviously good, and I was the bad one. After I had left to go to college in the city, I had learned that life wasn't as easy on me like at home. It was harder and tougher. My life lead to my dealings with gangs. After a while, I had tried to get away from that life, and Jet had found me bleeding on the street. I had died and started over as Spike Spiegel, writer for hire. Funny title, I know, but it's the new life I had going for me. Jet quit after we had met up a couple times for company in the big city. We got to rethinking our lifestyles, and he decided to finish college in psychiatry. So here we are, changed men. I used to live with him, but I went my own way. It didn't matter anymore anyway. He got a new boarder, but we'll talk about her later. 

"I've been good. I'm trying to finish my book." I replied with a sheepish grin.

"I haven't heard about this book's plot. You keep talking about finishing it, but it's been years. When will you quit trying and actually succeed in finishing it?"

"Hey, lay off! I'm just trying to find the perfect ending."

"Okay-okay! I'll just leave it be."

"Thanks. So...coffee?"

"Well, let me just inform Meifa that I'm done for the day, and we can leave my office."

Meifa is Jet's secretary, keeps him in check all day. She informs him of every important thing in his life like a good secretary should. She opens and closes his work days, and when she's sick, he's lost without her. Now, when I think of a secretary for a psychiatric office, I think of an old lady with a prim bun and glasses with those little ropes to keep your glasses around your neck if they fall off the bridge of your nose-you know what I'm talking about. But Meifa is a young girl. She's younger than me. She was a college drop-out, barely twenty-one, and into that creepy psychic-supernatural crap. In fact, she used to be one of those psychic hotline phone operators. Talk about a looney bin character! I would expect her to be taking sessions from Jet, but the odd thing is that she seems pretty in tact in the head-aside from the stuff she likes. She dresses appropriately for work in dress shirts and skirts. She's a good-looking girl, too. Her curly reddish-brown hair is always free of any buns, bouncing around her shoulders as she walks, and her green eyes are always so full of this vibrant spark. She is a great addition to his office. She takes all his calls, keeps tabs on his personal life (so he doesn't screw up), and sometimes has lunch with him. In school, she had lots of friends but tends to prefer this life with Jet. In fact, if there wasn't such an age gap between Jet and Meifa, I would actually push for a deeper relationship than what they have.

I poked my head out to see Meifa putting away some files into the filing cabinet. She stopped and flashed me a smile.

"Hi, Mr. Spiegel! It's nice to see you in the office again."

"Hey, Meifa! I was just told that you can go now. Jet and I are blowin' this popsicle stand and heading out to grab some coffee."

She closed the cabinet and grabbed her bag.

"Well, tell Mr. Black that I will see him tomorrow. Bye, Mr. Spiegel." she said and walked into the elevator.

Jet walked out of the office just in time to see his secretary leave and grabbed his coat.

"Well, Spike, I'm thinking of a joint on the corner of fifth and Asburry. Ya comin'?"

"Where are we going?" I asked, exhaling a bit of my smoke out my nose.

"You'll see. You'll see." he simply said as he placed his hat over his balding head.

* * * * *

"So, it's the little runt's birthday soon, right?" I asked as I took a sip of the beer in front of me.

"Yeah, Ed is turning thirteen."

Jet's boarder that I was talking about is a girl-a God damn child. Can you tell I hate kids? He adopted her after he found her sitting outside his doorstep. A friend of his just fled town to go on some kind of archeological dig and left his daughter, so Jet took her in. Having this ingenuous nurturing nature, he became her adopted father. Meifa comes once in a while to baby-sit her, and those two got into that weird crap every damn time. One time they read my future. I don't like living by cards. I make my own destiny just like Jet did taking that kid in.

"And she still looks like a kid, Jet. What are you feeding her? She's too thin and undeveloped." I commented, taking a swig from my beer again.

I licked my lips of the remnants of the drink. It felt good to hold a frosted mug in my hands and to be enveloped in smoke while cool jazz played. It was dark, swarthy-it was my kind of scene. Nothing could bother me there, even with Jet and my playful banter.

"I don't exactly want you hitting on her, so I like her the way she is." he commented dryly.

"I wouldn't hit on her anyway. She's batty."

"Spike..." he growled in a warning tone.

"You know I don't like kids, especially kids in the gifted program. She knows too damn much for her age."

"Well, I see you've brightened up since we got here."

He always had biting sarcasm...

"Sorry, Jet." 

I let my forehead rest on the cool table's surface. I had been feeling a little flush. It wasn't the best night for me, especially with my boss' rage with the drop in readers. 

"Who's the musician?"

"His name is Gren. He plays them blues sweet." he said in this beatnik dialogue that threw me into a loop.

All I did was reply as real as I could, like I always was.

"Ya got that right." 

He chuckled and took a swig from his own mug, wiping off his mouth with the back of his wrist. As the music swung from beat to beat like a pendulum to the seconds of time, I looked around the room. All sorts of people went to places like this. In the corner, a man in a trench coat sat, tapping his finger on the table while swinging his foot subtly underneath. Beside him, a woman-no man-or rather a man dressed as a woman was gulping down shot glasses upon shot glasses of liquor. It was probably vodka since she looked so smashed-or maybe tequila-hmmm...sounded good at the moment. 

The rest of the room was full of either chatty men and women, just casually drinking, or true observers of art, listening to his unique tune. The artist on stage was the focus of many women's eyes. He could be taken as the handsome type that women swooned over. He had long dark hair and in the lighting, it seemed almost to take on this purple tint. Maybe it was a dye job. And when he did open his eyes, they were a silver blue, a color I found very unique, but not surprised in this day and age. 

But when I was at that club that night, he did open his eyes, and to my keen observation it was on a woman across the room. It was at the height of the song, where all the melancholy notes seemed to overwhelm you in a sense of insecurity and compassion for the lonely or broken-hearted. It was then that he opened his eyes, focusing on her. She sat at the bar, looking detached-almost aloof-as she emitted a thin trail of smoke from her thin ruby lips. Many of the men had noticed her-except for the cross-dresser in the corner-but she didn't seem to notice anyone at all. She cast her emerald green eyes in Gren's direction and tossed a stray ebony tress aside with a casual flip. Gren's eyes seemed to smile for his lips as he turned away and finished the song. And even though he had turned away, I could not. She seemed to be the one that inspired his sad song, but didn't show any interest in his show. 

She was trim, petite, and very beautiful. Captivating at first glance, yet ordinary at second. Her hair was short, above the shoulders, cut in almost a slant towards her face. Any hairs that dared to go in her ivory complexion face was kept back in a red head band. She had on long, black, flared pants and flat heeled boots hidden under the pant legs. A red jacket, matching her hair accessory, covered her thin form and the mid-drift-revealing black top she wore. She looked very troubled from where I was sitting, but Jet would only allow me such little time to admire her as he took his cue to leave.

He stood up from his seat and took a few bills out of his wallet, placing them on the table.

"Ya ready to go, Spike?" his deep voice cut through the smoke filled air and rung in my ears, interrupting my thoughts.

I turned to him to answer with a simple, "yeah," and turned back only to find that she had disappeared. I was dumbfounded when she just disappeared in a few seconds. My queries vanished when the trance of the song broke. His fingers left the instrument, and the music stopped.

"Spike? Are you coming?" Jet asked once again.

I took out my payment and tossed it on top of Jet's money.

"Let's go."

* * * * *

"Spike-person!" 

Did I tell you how annoying I found children..? We went to Jet's apartment after the club and met his daughter. She was clinging to my leg, rubbing her head on my knee-almost like a monkey or a dog or something. She was just too odd. 

"All right, Ed. That's enough. Spike's had a bad day." Jet said in attempt to placate the over-active child.

Immediately, I found her up on my shoulders, clinging onto them as she spoke.

"Why are you having a bad day, Spike-person? Ed would like to help."

Did I mention she talks in third person?

"Well, Ed can't help." I muttered through clenched teeth.

Jet took Ed gently off of me and placed her on the floor. She started walking away like some kind of spider, minus four legs, and crawled to her room, bidding me farewell with a wave.

"Night-night, Spike-person!"

She was an odd child. She had short red hair, which made me think she was a boy at first glance. Like I said before, she was thin, constantly dressed in a loose top and spandex shorts. It almost reminded me of living in the USA at the time of pop culture in the 1980's. Plus, she always had a pair of goggles on her head as if she were ready to ride a plane or something. She may have been gifted, but she was so weird.

"So, Spike, how did you like the place?" Jet asked as he placed his coat in his closet on a hanger.

"Interesting." I replied while I found my way into his kitchen, "Hey! What do ya got to eat in here?"

"Always thinking with your stomach, I see..." 

I grabbed a hoagie he had wrapped in the side and removed it from the wrapper. He didn't even look at me when I took a big bite into the delectable packaged creation.

"That was supposed to be a midnight snack for me, Spike..." he muttered groggily, but I just continued eating.

I just smiled with a cheek full of cold cuts.

* * * * *

"Looks like he was kept in the freezer for a while."

She wasn't a woman of action, but she wasn't a woman of boredom. I think she'd found an unpleasant medium. She was a police detective for the city. She got to see the grittiest murders. We're talking decapitation, limbs removed, shots given to the head-or an unpleasant place for a man, and over-doses on drugs. It probably wasn't her cup of tea, but it was a part of her job. She was Faye Valentine-all songs aside please. She lived in an apartment-by herself. She was the woman I had seen that night at the club, hanging around the bar in the haze of it all.

"Valentine, what do you got on this?" one of the detectives asked as he left the refridgerator door open and the victim's arm hanging out the side.

She came into the room, garbed in her police uniform - the usual blue pants and button down shirt with that black jacket over it all, covering up her badge. She held in her gloved hands a plastic bag with a capsule inside it. 

"Another one with these drugs: Red-eye. I'd check the atopsy. Check his bloodstream and see what we get."

"You got it, Valentine."

She dropped the bag in another officer's hands, and he ran off out the door to relay it to the lab. Her eyes scanned the room carefully, looking for anything to get a suspect. Her steps were slow as she traced her fingers over and under counter tops. Suddenly, she stopped and crouched down.

"Do you see something?"

She sighed with disappointment.

"Yeah," her fingers traced a tooth on the ground and the blood dripping from underneath the counter, "At least he put up a fight."

* * * * *

It was a reoccuring dream-or a nightmare, depending on how you saw it. I couldn't move. My limbs were dead, but the pain coursed through my body. I wanted to kill myself than bear the pain. Glass was scattered across the black pavement that I lay strewn upon. I was broken. I remember the rain falling, lightly tapping my face and then sliding off my skin in a cold caress. It made me feel moist and yet it comforted me. But her voice came to me in the darkness of the night: Julia's soft yet rich voice. It was like a memory from another dream. I saw her in my mind for a brief second. She was singing to herself as she studied. I remember that I was pretending to take a nap on my books, but I was truly listening to her. It was I who adored her and had taken that moment to enjoy the calm I felt in her voice. But her voice faded, and my comfort dissolved replaced with a new voice. It wasn't rough, nor was it too grotesquely sweet. It was real, and Julia was not. It was low, and meant for ease. It was humane.

"Hang on..." 

But my eyes couldn't sustain to see the blood anymore, and for some reason, my right eye wouldn't open. My vision blurred as beams of light cut through the darkness and sirens filled the air. The last thing I saw before my dream ended were beautiful, emerald green eyes, gazing at me before I closed my eyes to sleep.

* * * * *

"Faye, you're here," he said enthusiastically and dulled into a disappointed tone, "...again."

The musician welcomed the fatigued cop into his apartment in a ritual-manner. It was always the same. They'd live their lives seperately, away from each other. He was immersed in his art, performing his saxophone at the night club, and she was into her job. Yet at the end of the day, they found solace in one another's presence, though neither would admit it. She stepped in while he closed the ironclad door behind her and watched her as she tossed her jacket onto the floor. He frowned and picked up after her.

"I see you enjoy my presence..." she said sarcastically and fell onto the couch in a lazy mess.

"Just as much as you enjoy mine, I guess." he said while he hung her jacket onto the coat rack, "You want a drink?"

"Do I even have to answer?" 

"Nope." he answered and walked over to his kitchen where he had a little mini-bar in the kitchen.

He twisted open the cap, and let the amber liquid coat the ice cubes he had placed in the glass that he had previously attempted to fix himself before she came. She always liked her drinks cold, even coffee. Sometimes, they would go to the corner cafe and enjoy iced mochas. She actually preferred it to the hot mocha, except in the change of weather-sometimes, not even then. 

Lacking animated facial features, he handed her the drink while she lounged on his couch.

"What were you doing?" she asked and let her lips touch the alcohol, consumming it with an almost urgency.

"I _was_ drying my dishes." he said as he leaned forward on the back of the couch.

"'_Was'_ is a past pretense. So what're you doing now?"

"Talking to you."

"What would you rather do?"

"I dunno, talk _without_ you."

"Funny."

"Do you still hate men?"

"Why?" she asked with a raised eyebrow, taking the glass away from her.

"Why are you friends with me?"

"I used to live with you."

"Yes, we did, and nothing happened-thank God. But I'm a man, and you are a man-hater. See where I'm going here?"

"I don't hate men." she deadpanned.

"You just show obvious spite towards them?"

"I work fine with men, I just can't have more than that with them. That's not man-hating."

"It's that Whitney guy that messed things up for you, huh?"

"Why the sudden interest in my love life?"

"I just think that there are more interesting things than coming to my place and not getting anything out of it."

"I get something out of it."

"It must be by yourself because I'm sure as hell not giving anything to you."

"Gren, leave me alone." she muttered and downed the last of her drink.

"Faye, you need more than a psychiatrist. You need a dating service."

"Why don't you get one yourself?" she asked as she placed the glass onto the coffee table.

"I am not unhappy."

"Yes, you are. You're as miserable as me."

"No, Faye. I'm used to being a lone wolf. I like to have less complications in my life. You want a pack, and two unloved people does not make a pack."

"I don't want a pack."

"I think you do."

"You are my family."

"No, Faye. I'm just the only person you run to."

* * * * *

"So what's on the agenda today?" Jet asked as he tucked his daily newspaper under his arm and stirred his new coffee.

"I have to go to visit this guy who was involved in this murder up town." I replied, lighting my usual every hour cigarette.

"Up town, huh? That's an unlikely place for murder. They're all too stinkin' rich..." he said while the cashier handed him my coffee, which he in turn gave to me.

"It's just a story. I probably won't get much out of it."

"Just be careful."

"It's not like I'm going into a shoot-out."

"Fine. But if you see or even sense the slightest bit of the ties from your past are involved-bolt."

"You don't have to tell me twice, Jet."

"Yes, I do. I have to tell you every fricken' time. You're still looking for that woman, and you'll seek a lead anywhere. I know you."

I took a sip of my coffee. I always like it black without any sugar.

"Don't bring Julia into this."

"Julia is your first-."

"Disappointment." I cut in, "So leave it be. I know I have."

"Whatever..." he said with a sigh.

* * * * *

Faye lifted the sheet back over the victim's head with a shake of her head.

"Another dead person." she sighed with resignation and slumped back on her heels.

"His name is Charlie Parker. Age:39. He was a pawn shop owner, known to have former ties with the Red Dragon Syndicate."

"Red Dragon, huh?" she said with a hint of acknowledgement as she pulled back his sleeve with a gloved hand to see a red dragon tattooed to his arm, "He couldn't have gotten it lasered off?"

"Well, Faye, it seems like that wouldn't have saved him either. He already changed his name. His previous name was Cameron Jameson."

She laid his hand back on the ground, pulling the sleeve back over the hideous eyes of the dragon, its mouth open as if openly laughing at her failed attempts to track the next victim.

"Have we found out who else is involved in this little syndicate?" she inquired to the officer standing above her with a clipboard.

"Just the suspected few that are still involved supposedly or all ready killed."

"Hmm...maybe we should start interrogations or put insiders in." 

"Doubt it, ma'am. We've been trying to round up people, but they all seemed to have skipped town."

"Damn them."

Faye stood up from her crouched position and removed her gloves.

"I want a good examination of his body. Find out what killed him, what poison, and where it can be acquired. It's ridiculous that we're on this wild goose chase without any leads." she exclaimed and proceeded to walk about the apartment as I entered.

I casually strolled in, picking up a glove out of a box as I passed silently behind a few cops. My hands instantly brushed against walls and every little nook and cranny to see if there were any signs of foul play, but I came up empty handed. Even more interesting was what I caught upon my ears in passing.

"Who would be involved in the Red Dragon Syndicate? I think the price of leaving is very devastating." one officer commented.

I walked over to where they were, doing a bit of eavesdropping on my part. Something was going down, and it involved my former allegiance. I had to know, even though Jet would probably be very furious.

"Do you always just waltz into crime scenes unannounced and unwanted." a voice demanded in my ear.

I turned around to see a big man towering over with his shiny badge eye level to me. He scowled, turning his lips into a thin, grim line. I smiled sheepishly.

"Just doin' my job." I replied smugly – much to my own dismay.

That made him smile. I knew what that meant and I looked around – anywhere – to see if I could get any help. That's when I saw her again. That woman at the bar. She was one of the cops making their way into the bedroom. I tried to get to her, but that behemoth hand came to sort of pound me in the chest, knocking the air out of my lungs. I looked up to see the same giant cop standing there with a smile on his face.

I was thrown out – literally.

* * * * * 

A sharp knock came to Jet's door and his balding head perked up to see the young secretary poke her head in.

"Mr. Black, sir, your three o' clock appointment has been pushed back to four. She says she had a sudden appointment and won't be in for another hour." Meifa informed him with her usual cheery countenance.

He smiled wanly and leaned back in his old leather chair while folding his hands in his lap.

"It's okay. It's not like I'm booked for the day." he said with his usual gruffness seeming amiss.

"True." she said as she pursed her lips and stepped into the office, closing the oak door behind her.

She leaned against the wood while a sigh escaped her lips.

"Are you okay today?" she asked with concern.

"Nothing at all, Meifa. Why do you ask?" 

His smile widened but she could sense that something was not right. His smile at that point was almost grotesquely saccharine – it was frightening.

"Stop that. You look psychotic." she deadpanned, and he frowned in dismay.

"I'm fine."

"Are you really?"

"Yeah. Well, actually..." 

He trailed off, as if unsure of his own words.

"Yes?" she pushed.

"Well, I think Ed gets lonely sometimes when you or I are not around. Maybe she needs a friend..."

"Ed is fine, Mr. Black. She is fine."

"I'm just afraid that because she's a genius she might just hack into a satellite or something and cause attention by making land formations with a laser beam."

Meifa began to laugh, and Jet scowled.

"What's so damn funny?" he demanded.

"Ed's not that outrageous! She'd never do anything like that!" she managed to say through her fits of laughter, "But I have to hand it to you. For a man your age, you do have a strong and wildly rampant imagination."

"MEIFA!"

Their interlude was interrupted by a voice shouting in the next room.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" 

It was the four o' clock appointment. Meifa and Jet glanced at each other, smiles on their faces as if it were just enough to get through the day.

"Be right out!" Meifa shouted, but her eyes never left Jet's.

And just like that, Meifa exited the room, leaving Jet to collect himself for his client. When the young secretary came out, Faye was standing in the reception still in uniform. She bowed in apology.

"Hi, Meifa. Sorry about the rescheduling. Is Dr. Black in?" she inquired politely.

Meifa smiled to the chinese-featured beauty before her and stepped aside as if to show her to the door.

"He's ready and waiting, Miss Valentine." 

* * * * * *

I stared up at the lights in the elevator leading to Jet's office. It had been a long day. I was turned away from the crime scene more than once. Hey, what can I say? I'm a persistant guy. And in addition to that, my boss chewed me out for not getting a lead. The day was going into the crapper and me with it. I loosened my tie as usual, and I let the bright lights burn my eyes until everything became a blur. My mind drifted as my senses dulled. I strayed to memories of my time in the foliage of the old wench's mansion, Julia's smile, the sight of empty bullet shells flying after a swift killing delivered from the syndicate, the rain falling on my face after a fateful car accident a few years back, and then, out of the blue, the last thing I thought of was that woman in the bar at the scene of the crime. A loud bell snapped me out of my thoughts to alert me that I was on Jet's floor. I sighed and stuck my hands in my pocket. It was time to vent to Jet.

The doors moderately slid open and instead of seeing an empty foyer, I had passed the woman from the bar as I stepped out of the elevator. She seemed aloof as she sauntered past with the smell of sweet perfume invading my senses. Her black hair swinged from side to side, and her jacket made soft brushing noises as her fabrics rubbed against each other. I turned my head back to catch a glimpse of her.

She was a cop, though I couldn't have guessed that at the club. As I briefly looked at her, she turned in the elevator to press the button, and our eyes met. Emerald green met mud brown in just an instant, and it ended just as soon as it had happened. Her face was placid as the doors shut over her face, and I got the impression that she wasn't a very friendly woman. She seemed almost distant.

"Are you okay, Mr. Spiegel?" 

I looked back ahead where Meifa stood behind the reception desk with folders in hand. I shoved my hands in my pocket and shrugged. 

"Nothing. Nothing at all."

**Author's Note**: I bet you're saying "Finally, an update!" Sorry! I hoped you liked chapter 2. I am trying to finish other fiction before I get into this though. I have two RK fanfiction that I have yet to finish, so please don't kill me if this doesn't get updated every week. I will still write it, but work extra hard on the others more. I just want people to enjoy this as much as I like writing. And this is quite the challenge. I'll be busy for a while especially when I'm trying to see if I can find someone who would be interested in my stories and try to get published. I have a very tight schedule for this year with tests, research papers, a full time job, and a two trips (one to Seattle and one to Jersey, my birth state). But I still make time to do things I enjoy. I love Grencia Mars Elijah Guo Eckener "Gren"! I especially love his name. He's such a sad soul. I just had to put him in this story! How could I not? 


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